


In The Dark Somewhere

by TheAngryKimchi



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, First Time, Half-Sibling Incest, Loki is the Asgardian equivalent of 15, M/M, Minotaur Thor, Size Difference, Slow-ish burn, Tags to be added, day 1: monster au, day 5: curses, thorki Halloween week
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:41:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27220651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAngryKimchi/pseuds/TheAngryKimchi
Summary: He blinks in and out of consciousness, momentarily aware of the darkness still swallowing everything, the jostling of his body as it’s getting moved through the labyrinth, thrown over the creature's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The fur under his fingers is soft and warm.His mind is hazy for however long it takes for the creature to lay him back on the floor.Loki has a foggy glimpse of golden flickering light, of broken chains, and the shape of a man—or is it animal?—looming over him.—Prince Loki of Asgard’s accidental discovery of his family’s greatest secret
Relationships: Loki/Thor (Marvel)
Comments: 87
Kudos: 216





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Day 1 of [Thorki Halloween Week](https://twitter.com/thejammys_/status/1301907451508293632?s=20). 
> 
> What started as an idea for some pointless smut, grew feelings and background plot and now it's 5 am, 2.5k long, almost close to the smut and I'm giving it all up for sleep.
> 
> Enjoy! 🎃

Loki knows he shouldn’t have traipsed so far in the (previously) hidden dungeons, especially without clear permission from his Father-King. But Loki is young, five hundred years still, and full of curiosity, if nothing else. 

A full moon ago, he had witnessed the most queer thing of his life while taking a late-night stroll through his Queen-Mother’s luscious gardens. The moon hung high and pregnant and the night was the warmest of the season yet, and Loki was whispering words of incantation to the rosebuds, spelling them to bloom and their powerful scents to surround him and make the night the sweetest when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a cluster of shadows squirrelling around behind some tall bushes. 

Curious—and maybe a little apprehensive—he veiled himself under invisibility and followed the royal guards as they made their way through the gardens. They were carrying three full sacks of strange contents that certainly looked heavy enough to make the renowned warriors pant with effort. They walked quietly but hastily through the vined archways and the short fruitful trees, all the way to the side of the palace, standing right under his mother’s high balcony. Loki lost them from his sight when they stepped inside a hatchway that was, until that moment, hidden beneath the tight weaving of the vines that climbed the golden pillars and twirled around the balcony’s marble railing. 

Unable to follow them inside, Loki stood alone under the bright moon waiting for when the guards would reemerge. Which they did some half an hour later, light on their feet, free of any added weight, and pale under the moonlight, eyes dancing with a fear formerly unknown. 

Since then Loki couldn’t stop thinking of the strange event. His eyes falling to the tight clutch of vines spreading under his mother’s balcony at random times, especially whenever he was anywhere near the vicinity of the gardens. 

Now, as he walks further inside the forbidden dungeons, he feels chills raising onto his arms from the eerie cry of the wind. Every step of his resounding inside the narrow corridors, his every breath falling on the stones and echoing all around him until he’s mostly certain he isn’t alone. He reaches yet another corner and follows the path until he comes to a dead end.

“Curses!” Loki spits on the floor; it’s the third dead end he has met since the moment he walked down the stairs of the hidden hatch.

A gust of chilling wind blinks out his conjured flame.

Loki pivots on his heels, trying in vain to coax the flame back to life.

He damns everything that has lead to this moment as he stretches out his hands and tries to feel his way around. Counting more misses than successes, Loki suddenly realizes he’s lost inside a maze.

* * *

The dreams started on the night of the new moon. 

They were abstract for the most part, obscure in golden gleam. A play of senses mostly; the hard huff of a breath on the nape of his neck, the soft touch of something soft and silky, _warm_ , beneath his fingers, the stench of a room’s stagnant air, the suffocating fire in his lungs, the desire in his trembling limbs, but most interestingly of all, the twin orbs of captive sky staring at him in a mixture of ache and rage, shocked surprise.

Loki would wake every morning drenched in sweat and his spend, breathing hard and disoriented by the bright light coming from his windows, the sheets on his bed torn under his fingers, and the memory of those eyes following him throughout his daily lessons and ablutions. After a week he’d come to yearn for the night to come fast so the strange vision would play over again.

The dream was always the same; the abstract golden gleam masking anything from taking on any real shape but the too-sharp senses and the memory of those sentient eyes. Until yesterday, when a peculiarly clear vision of that hidden hatchway under the vines came to welcome him before the golden sheen spread over everything again.

He woke up restless, mind clearing quickly from the fog of his orgasm and darting toward one, clear decision: Loki had to know what was hidden so meticulously from him.

* * *

Loki starts using his voice halfway through the maze. Little wordless cries that either come back to him or travel farther away, navigating him away from any possible dead ends or towards turning points. He doesn’t have any grasp of time in the perfect darkens, no moon or sun to help him tell the hour, but his feet are throbbing inside his well-worn leather boots and his stomach is starting to cramp from hunger.

His next cry might come out more desperate than before.

His voice breaks at the end.

* * *

The wall he slumps against is moist with humidity. The air smells stagnant and tepid and it makes Loki miss the sweet scent of his mother’s gardens, makes him sick with hopelessness.

Tilting his head back on the stone, Loki shuts his eyes, tries to rest his tired mind before he finds the strength to walk farther. And in the silence, in the sticky feeling of his fingers, he finds the answer to why he can’t bring the flame back to life.

Seidr is nullified by water.

Loki perks up. Starts wiping his hands on his clothes but they are damp, too. He cries out in frustration, undoing laces and dragging on zippers until he can find that one spot that will help him dry his fingers. He does find it that miraculous spot on the corner of his undershirt and it helps wipe his fingers from dew enough for him to call forward a small, flickering flame. 

A grin breaks his face, wide and toothy, giddy. 

His happiness is short-lived, though, for when his focus finally spans out from the flame he realizes his sight is obscured by a face that’s neither animal nor human but something in-between.

Loki gasps at the fiery rage he meets in the sky-blue of the creature’s eyes when it smirks at him before it blows out a gust of air and snuffs out his small, sorry excuse of a flame.

* * *

He blinks in and out of consciousness, momentarily aware of the darkness still swallowing everything, the jostling of his body as it’s getting moved through the labyrinth, thrown over the creature's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The fur under his fingers is soft and warm. 

His mind is hazy for however long it takes for the creature to lay him back on the floor.

Loki has a foggy glimpse of golden flickering light, of broken chains, and the shape of a man—or is it animal?—looming over him. 

He moans in disoriented fear, and then, he sleeps.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter count went up to 4 (for now).
> 
> Enjoy! ♥

It’s the cool touch of water on his lips that finally awakes him, the trickle of it down the sides of his face before he grabs the proffered goblet in both hands and starts drinking in zest. The feeling of it going down his parched throat is nearly divine, rejuvenating, as he empties the goblet in a few, deep mouthfuls. In his haste, he chokes on the last drops. Loki spills on his side, tears gathering in his eyes from the burning in his throat, his chest heaving in body-wrenching coughs. He’s clutching for leverage on the floor, and it’s then when his fingertips subconsciously follow the deep welts engraved on the rough stone that he’s suddenly knocked back in reality.

The dreams, the hatch, the maze, the strange creature that’s neither man nor animal—it all comes back to him with the power of a comet breaking through the stratosphere. 

Gasping for air, Loki lifts wide eyes from the apparent scratches on the stone to the dimly lit room around him. The creature is squatting a few feet away from his prone form; a grotesque mixture of short fur and pale skin, of animal and anthropomorphic features. The only exit from the room is a gaping dark hole behind it.

Loki swallows thickly, moving his sight over the creature, able to take in its full form now that the light is adequate and he isn’t fainting from fatigue. It stands nude, its hands lying between its parted thighs, saving Loki from the full sight of its genitals—inadvertently most probably; tangled through the messy, long tendrils of golden hair, two long horns spring out from the sides of its temples, sharp points curved inwards to create a most frightening image, and its eyes, when Loki dares to look at its face, are set in a scowl, watching Loki warily. 

They are the same blue that has haunted his dreams as of late.

Keeping his eyes on it, Loki rises, foolishly, slowly to his knees, trying to not make any sudden moves lest it thinks him an enemy. He proffers a slightly trembling hand to it, palm skywards as he would do for any strange animal, but he’s quick to pull back when it lifts a lip and lets out a frightening growl that resounds all around them on the stone.

Loki scurries back to the wall, curling himself into a ball and praying that, if he’s to find death on the claws of this beast, then please make it swift.

* * *

Time is of no importance when you spend every breathing moment fearing for your life, as Loki discovers. He’s got no thought for anything else that isn’t the golden creature prowling before him—seemingly restless and alert to every hitch of Loki’s breath. That’s why, when his stomach gives a mighty rumble that echoes in the large room, Loki startles in surprise. Cheeks reddening under the beast’s studying gaze.

It turns on its heels, walking slowly to the other side of the room where two sacks rest against the wall, one half-empty and the other full to the brim, and it’s with detached shock that Loki realises they are the same sacks he saw the guards carrying weeks ago.

The beast comes back with a big cut of smoked meat in his hands. It rests it on the floor a couple of feet away from Loki before nudging it towards him.

The low grunt it gives sounds deceptively like an order to eat.

Loki snatches the meat away before it can change its mind, stuffs his mouth full without caring about the dirt of the floor. 

* * *

A million questions rise to his mind as he watches the beast watching him, as he takes in the way it moves, how it holds itself upright with no effort, the tension on its shoulders and the tightness of its muscles whenever Loki moves to change positions on the floor, take the weight off his numb legs. 

Its eyes, those incredibly sentient eyes, seem peculiarly familiar—and not only because of the strange dreams. There is something in their shape, in the darker fan of eyelashes that makes Loki’s throat itch—the answer on the tip of his tongue but staying otherwise out of reach.

They narrow suspiciously whenever Loki tries to test if he can call on his seidr yet, its hands curling into fists—because that’s what they are, a pair of anthropoid hands with five fingers and opposable thumbs, joined to a pair of long, muscled arms that are covered in short, golden fur from the middle of their forearms up to its shoulders and the upper half of its chest where it fades on the hard planes of its belly, only for it to reappear on its hips and thick thighs. Instead of feet, the creature possesses a set of great hooves easily the size of a warhammer each.

Its tail flicks when Loki spreads his legs out before him in an attempt to stretch them. The tuft of golden hair at the tip swipes on the floor and, for some reason, Loki gets the ludicrous desire to curl the thin length around his fingers.

He shakes his head, one specific set of questions prevailing in his mind:

Why is it kept in here? How come some lowly guards know of it and are even trusted with the task of delivering sustenance for it, but not Loki? How did it come to Asgard? What are Odin’s schemes for it? Does his mother know?

Loki has neither read about nor met a creature such as this before. Something inside him— that impulsive, curious spark of his that has gotten him in this situation in the first place—wants to find a way to solve the mystery of its existence.

* * *

At some point, Loki falls asleep. He wakes up lying on his side on the cold stone, his back safely tucked against the wall, a threadbare quilt drawn over his body.

The beast is soundly asleep beside the dark exit. 

The quilt is slightly damp from the humidity and, when he looks better at it, Loki can make out some kind of complicated weaving on it. The craftsmanship reminds him terribly of his mother’s. And just like that, Loki decides he _has_ to know the truth.

He wipes his hands as best as he can on the well-worn fabric, and it’s with exhilaration that he finally feels his seidr’s weak thrum in his veins. He holds it ready on his fingertips as he crawls quietly to where the beast slumbers. 

It’s a slow and tedious trial, but at last, Loki is brought to stand a scant meter away from his horrific guard.

Taking a deep breath, gathering as much power as he can on his fingertips, Loki brings the proper words of incantation strong to the forefront of his mind before he thrusts his palm to cup the creature’s forehead, letting himself free to fall willingly into the maze of its more resounding memories.


	3. Chapter 3

The Queen’s gardens are buzzing with life around him when Loki opens his eyes, a golden almost-mist tinting everything in its soft light. The sweet aroma of blooming flowers comes to tickle on his nose and he is unable to hold back a smile when he sees his mother tending to a euonymus alatus shrub—its flowers a chaos of bright pink colour behind her. He’s ready to call out to her when something wheezes past him, the unmistakable clap-clap of hooves on the stone path.

It’s with great shock that he sees a miniature copy of the creature in the labyrinth run to Loki’s mother and wrapping tight, scrawny arms around her legs. 

The Queen laughs—the same chirping sound that Loki remembers filling his childhood—and turns to fold over the little creature’s form. 

_“Oh, Thor, my darling boy,”_ she says, kissing the shaggy mess of wheat-coloured hair. _“I love you so much, my little sun.”_

The child—for that’s what it is, an innocent child—giggles in happiness and buries its face in Loki’s mother’s clothed belly.

* * *

Thor’s older in the next blink, willowy tall and shining bright under the sun. The clothes on his body are of high quality and the mess of his hair is meticulously tied back, away from his face and the small horns sprouting from his temples.

His smile is wide and friendly on his strange face—handsome even. He’s petting and making soothing, soft sounds to a white stallion that Loki remembers from his visits to the stables—Balder, Loki’s second older brother, takes it sometimes for walks, but it’s mostly left alone to graze in the stable grounds, masterless for all Loki has ever cared. 

Beside him stands Tyr, Loki’s oldest brother, younger than Loki ever remembers him being. Tyr looks upset, eyes darting intermittently between Thor and the doors to the stables, fidgetting on his feet in a way Loki has never seen him do before.

_“Brother, we have to go,”_ Tyr whispers, anxious and with hurry. _“If Father gets whiff of us sneaking you out of the palace we will both be lashed for our mischief.”_

Thor’s smile loses some of its light, but he nods his great head and gives a last pat on the horse’s flank before he turns away, following quickly behind Tyr. 

* * *

A sliver of moonlight beams through the shut curtains and the sound of sniffling sobs comes to break the eerie stillness of the night.

_“Hush, my darling boy, hush,”_ Frigga’s voice comes soft through the darkness of what can only be a bedchamber. 

Loki’s eyes focus to the dark silhouettes of his mother and Thor tightly wrapped together on the four-poster bed. The whimpers that follow manage to break his heart and he’s shocked to make out the ugly smudge of a bruise swelling on the side of the creature’s face.

_ “I know, my sweetheart. They are children, too, they didn’t know any better.” _

Despite Frigga’s soothing intent, the words only manage to make Thor cry harder and bury himself further in her embrace. 

* * *

There’s a scuffle on the hallway outside from where Loki’s chambers now stand. A tight clutch of Einherjar shouting orders and crying out in pain. 

In the middle of them towers a golden, anthropomorphic beast, growling and hitting its great hooves on the marble floor before charging. 

Red has replaced the seemingly ever-present golden light of memories, tinting the scene like a sheer veil thrown over the arching hallway. A well of uncontrollable rage where before existed only warmth.

* * *

_ “—You are a danger to your family! To your friends! To the palace staff that have served you and cared for you since infanthood! I have been benevolent enough to allow you to live upon your misfortunate birth, despite being a constant, breathing reminder of my dear wive’s betrayal! I’ve shown you mercy and you paid me back with bloodbath and mayhem! You leave me no other choice!” _

Odin looks down at him in the next warp of memories, his sole eye narrowed and his mouth tight in scornful distaste.

_“Thor,”_ he pauses for breath, for the dramatic effect that Loki knows and despises so well. _“Friggasson, I cast you out.”_

A high gasp sounds from the side and Loki turns to see his mother holding her hands over her mouth, eyes wide and gleaming bright with terror. Her middle is swollen under her light half-armour. 

Tyr stands beside her, tall and stern in his royal armour, jaw tight. His left arm is bandaged over his chest, three healing gashes running from his right temple to the corner of his mouth—an injury that Loki knows will heal to scar his oldest brother’s face forevermore. A tear slips from the corner of his eye, but he makes no move to wipe its trace away—it’s more emotion Loki has ever seen his cold, distant brother showing.

There’s a flicker of motion to the side and Loki glances that way to see a miniature of Balder hiding behind a pillar, face red and splotchy as he tries to not make any sounds as he cries.

Thor’s hands are curled into tight fists as he stares fearlessly at Odin, but he does not attempt to advocate for himself. 

* * *

Loki falls back to land on his arse, chest heaving for breath and face contorted in a grimace of utter horror. Around him, the dimly lit room in the centre of the labyrinth takes form.

The creature— _ Thor, his half-brother! _ —lies opposite him, perfectly mirroring his pose. Instead of horror, however, there’s rage simmering in its— _ his _ —blue eyes.

“You could have asked,” he says, voice sounding more like an animal’s growl than a man’s words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is getting longer than I expected, but I finally have a clear plan laid out for it and I shall roll with it ^^;
> 
> An enormous thank you to all of you taking the time to read and leave your lovely feedback! I appreciate it so much ♥


	4. Chapter 4

Loki stares, mouth hanging open in a most unattractive way surely, wide eyes frozen on his supposed brother’s face as they both lie sprawled on the ground. And Loki doesn’t think he has ever been left speechless before; apparently, there exists a first time for everything. 

There are a million things he wants to say—observations to make, questions to ask, exclamations to utter!—but not a single one is able to successfully make the way from his mind to his mouth, no matter how short a path that is.

To think he’s got a brother that Loki had never known about… 

Something inside him has turned numb, as if he has just been dipped into the frozen lakes of Jotunheim. He feels like drowning; this creature’s sadness and rage infusing his lungs until he cannot take breath. Loki tastes ash.

Loki is not one to cry, but he wants to weep for this poor man.

Thors’s brow has drawn tight above the bumpy bridge of his nose, short fur wrinkling at the angry grimace that contorts his face. “You look shaken, little lamb,” he says, lip pulled back in a sneer. He blows out a gust of air from his nose—it sounds mocking to Loki’s ears. 

Opening his mouth, Loki tries to make the words form, but his renown silver tongue has turned to lead, lies as a seemingly heavy weight inside his mouth. The only action he is capable of at this moment is to frozenly stare at his newfound brother.

Shaking his initial surprise from Loki’s magic, Thor straightens, comes to sit on his arse, muscles tight in defence. The hand he brings to wrap around Loki’s ankle feels like a shackle, tight in its hold and too warm over Loki’s leather britches.

“Or are you a wolf disguised in the skin of a lamb?” He travels his glance from Loki’s horrified face down his tall, lean body, and what he sees must not be something worthy enough to ignite either respect or wonder. 

Loki yelps when there’s a powerful tug on his leg that makes him fall to lie back and slide on the floor until he comes to a stop close to where Thor is now half-kneeling. The creature is quick to clamber on top of Loki, grasp his thin wrists and pin them over his head, knees tucked on either side of Loki’s thighs. And Loki feels small beneath the beast, fragile under its far greater strength.

“Nevertheless, I have to be honest with you; I did not think you strong enough to possess such powerful magic.” Loki wants to be offended at his poorly veiled insult, but Thor gives him no time to react before he shakes his head, hands tightening impossibly around Loki’s wrists. “However, to think Odin would send  _ a child  _ to execute his malicious crimes—” Thor tuts. The pressure he’s putting on Loki’s hands making him wince in a sharp flair of pain. 

“I—” Loki tries, but his mouth is sticky, throat parched. His face twists in pain. “I am not— here to hurt you.”

Thor blows air again, something awfully resembling a snort. His breath lands hot on Loki’s clammy face and he can do little else but whimper at the sudden, intimidating closeness. Shadows are cast by Thor’s enormous bulk to land over them—his eyes and the sharp points of his horns, the only things still reflecting the dim, golden glow of the room. 

“Hurt me? You are fragile as a butterfly, boy. Your seidr is as dangerous as the tickling of a feather in this Hel.”

Tugging on his wrists in anger, Loki turns to glare at the beast of a man, momentarily forgetting any semblance of pity he might have previously had. “Unhand me!” And when Thor doesn’t seem willing to follow with Loki’s demands, Loki turns and buries his teeth deep into the meat of a wide wrist.

Outside of drawing a sharp, hissing breath, Thor looks marginally unaffected. Has even the audacity to smirk down at Loki. 

“Nothing but the flutter of a wing.”

“Unhand me right this instant, you brute!” 

Loki’s futile thrashing only has as a result to amuse the looming beast. Thor looks down at him with a mocking shadow of a smile, chuckles even when Loki groans in his attempts to get himself free and, surprisingly enough, the sound of his low, raspy laugh has Loki settling easier than any jostling could ever manage. 

A sudden wave of fatigue washes over him as Loki gives up, seidr and physical strength depleted after the day’s many troubles.

“Please, believe me,” he says, turning his head to the side, ignoring the warm stain in his cheeks at this unmistakable gesture of obedience. “I come bearing no maliciousness in my heart, only a deadly well of curiosity.” He whispers the words, certain Thor will still be able to hear him, and he waits on bated breath for the whole minute Thor takes to access him.

In the room and the dark corridors beyond the entrance, an eerie stillness prevails. As if the entire labyrinth has fallen quiet in anticipation of its resident’s decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for how small the updates are. Personally, I usually prefer longer chapters, but they also take more time to write and I'd like to keep up with an almost-daily updating schedule with this one. 
> 
> Again, thank you all of you taking the time to read and leave your lovely feedback! It warms my heart and pushes me to go on ♥


	5. Chapter 5

Loki doesn’t know when he started counting in his mind, but he has counted up to a hundred and sixty-seven when Thor deems it long enough and finally rewards him with an answer. 

“How do I know to trust you?” he rumbles, tone doubtful, threatening, raising chills down Loki’s spine. “I have shown you only kindness, despite the possibility of you coming here to kill me, and as soon as I turn my back, you attack me like a viper.” 

Loki gets the absurd desire to roll his eyes at the incessant use of animal analogies. He resists, however, with great effort, relaxes his body further onto the hard stone and dares to turn his head to meet Thor’s glare. Certain almost that if he wanted to attack him, he would have done so already.

“I have not come to hurt you but dare not to think you have seen or experienced the full extent of my power. For a snake I may be—a viper as you correctly addressed me—and similar to one, I, too, will attack if threatened.”

Thor’s eyes harden still.

“Yet, I plead with you to trust in my words, mistrustful as they might be, that everything I have done was in neither intimidation nor harm towards you. I merely sought to know who my captor is.”

“And? Did your invading ways got you your answers?”

Pain shoots through Loki’s heart, sudden, choking him from what little air he has managed to get in his lungs. Flashes of the life Thor had previously known vivid in his mind’s eye. “I believe I got more than I bargained for—dear brother...” 

The sound Thor makes is too subtle to be called a gasp, but the shock is there; clear in the nearly inaudible hiss of his breath, the faint full-body jerk he gives, the imperceptible tightening of his fingertips digging into Loki’s skin. He studies Loki’s face more keenly then, gaze fluttering from his eyes to his sharp features to the colour of his hair in but a mere moment.

It’s possible he finally notices the resemblance to Uncle Freyr and Aunt Freya, the thin lips and green-blue colour of his eyes that Loki shares with their oldest brother, the Vanir features he inherited from their Mother.

Loki tilts his head back, points his chin high. “I, Loki Odinson, God of Mischief and Chaos, Loki the Silvertongue, third son of the All-father, Odin Borson, and the All-Mother, Frigga of Vanaheim, swear on our Queen-Mother’s grace that I will bring no harm your way, Thor, brother of mine.”

In increments, Thor eases his hold, pulling back until he’s crouching on his haunches. Loki doesn’t snatch the opportunity to dart away though. No, he takes his time easing his arms down, rolling his sore shoulders as best he can before rubbing on his wrists that, he now sees, are already bruising an angry crimson.

“An Odinson...”

Pushing up on his elbows, Loki takes a moment to himself before replying. The rage seems to have left Thor’s eyes. “Aye.”

“Did Mo—” Thor stumbles over his words, snaps his mouth shut quickly, but Loki can still make out the desperate hope colouring his voice. “Did the Queen Frigga send you?”

Despite his stance—how he’s crouching with the knuckles of a fist on the floor for leverage, body positioned like an animal ready to attack at a moment’s notice—Loki can recognize the vulnerability in his eyes. Thinly veiled as it might be.

Loki puts forward as much regret as he can for his next words. “No,” he says, “Mother didn’t send me… No one did.”

Shaking his head, Thor pushes up from the floor until he’s standing over Loki and, without sparing him another glance, he turns and walks farther away from him, grabbing a jug of water to drink and spill on his face.

“You will have to forgive me, but I do not understand,” he says after a while, voice so low Loki has to strain to hear him. “How did you manage to find me if not purposefully seeking me out? Were you also banished for some meagre crime that shamed the All-father?” It comes out harsh, full of venom; a hatred Loki has felt many a time for many a people— especially his bastard of a father.

“If that is the case, I do not see you being awfully surprised.”

"I am not the first child of the royal family that Odin has gotten rid of when they stopped being of use to him. It wouldn’t surprise me to not be the last either."

Thor passes him the waterjug when Loki extends his hand in silent request. 

_Not the first?_ Loki wonders, finding Thor’s claims peculiar enough. He opts to stash that question away, for the time being, more pressing matters weighing on his mind and demanding to be answered at the moment. 

“Tell me, Thor” he begins once he’s got water soothing his throat, “are you aware of this labyrinth’s location?”

Leaning back on the wall, arms tightly crossed before his large chest, Thor shrugs. “I was under a sleeping spell when I was first brought here. I tried escaping but the place is spelt to change and shift so I can never find my way out. It could be anywhere on the Nine.”

Internally, Loki curses his father. 

“And how many years have you been held in here?”

Thor shrugs one shoulder, runs his eyes down Loki’s body in thought before he asks in turn: “how old are you?”

Loki stiffens, remembering the sight of their mother in the last scene of Thor’s memories that he was allowed to pry into; Frigga, round with child and terrified beyond anything Loki has ever seen. That means Thor has been—

_Curses!_

Sighing, Thor starts a slow slide down the wall until he’s sitting on the floor. He shuts his eyes then, presses his head back, and his voice is strangely soft when he speaks, "I've been imprisoned here for— _many, many_ years— uncountable years. At first, I tried counting the days, but you too will see it is a futile thing to attempt. I cannot tell day from night, season from season, time is nothing here. Only the guards that visit me, are any indication I have of still living in a moving world."

Consumed by the strange desire to reach out and offer comfort to someone he has only met, Loki curls his hands into fists, wraps his thin arms around his own torso in a lacking imitation of an embrace. Somehow, he manages to drown the whimper that wants to be let out. 

His heart is shattering in millions of pieces when he answers Thor’s earlier question, with voice low and remorseful.

“I am five hundred and fifteen years old and you, Thor, have never left Valaskjalf.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Valaskjalf according to MCU Wiki is the name of the royal palace of Asgard.
> 
> Oof! This week has been a roller-coaster! I'm so sorry for breaking my promise for semi-daily updates >_< I'll try to keep up with it now but it might be a little hard.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading till now and for your precious feedback, it's really what drives me to work harder ♥  
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! See you soon ♥


	6. Chapter 6

Loki watches keenly as Thor takes in the information, as his mind works over the incredibly cruel amount of time he was made to spend thrown in here, abandoned and forgotten like some filthy family secret. He watches as Thor’s strong jaw tightens, Loki’s gaze is drawn down to his thick neck, working around swallowing. Heaving a great, deep breath, Thor pushes slowly on his feet, eyes glued on the dusty tips of Loki’s boots. 

“I see,” he says and it comes out thin, breakable almost and, suddenly, Loki gets a perfect view of just how vulnerable this powerful creature really is. Turning his back to him, Thor walks to stand directly before the empty entrance, fingertips turning white on the edge of the wall. “You will have to excuse me, I fear I won’t be the best of companions right now.” 

“Tho—” Loki begins, reaching out a hand that’s left hovering midway. He’s left without words, tongue tied and throat tight with pity as he watches Thor’s gigantic frame getting gradually swallowed by the labyrinth's darkness.

* * *

With nothing better to do and with no sign of Thor returning any time soon, Loki finally succumbs to the bone-deep exhaustion that makes his fingers vibrate and weighs on his eyelids. He curls beneath the faded quilt, back safely pressed against the wall and head pillowed on his skinny bicep and when sleep washes over him, familiar like the gentle caress of a loved one, it’s to the scent he now recognizes to be of his newly discovered brother.

For the first time in weeks, Loki doesn’t dream.

* * *

He wakes with a shiver. Shivers make the fine hairs on his arms stand on end. The smell of iron and ozone permeates the stale air of the room and the humidity is so thick Loki can feel it clammy on his skin, chilling him to his bones. 

He yawns to the sound of faraway thunder and, while he gets the detached feeling he should be focusing on something important, he’s still so tired he can do nothing more but yawn again and curl deeper into his thin cover. Blinking into unconsciousness as easily as a candle to a harsh draft of air.

* * *

The next time he wakes there’s a crick in his neck and the small of his waist is throbbing from the stone digging into his flesh. Both the chill and the humidity have abated, though the smell of ozone is still in the air, though not as strong. The hulking, golden mass of Thor is slumping against the wall across from Loki where he’s thoughtfully munching on an apple; fruit so small in his palm Loki would have found the sight ridiculous if their situation was any different. 

Finding Thor unaware of his wakefulness, Loki takes the opportunity to contemplate over his brother’s current mood. The fullness of his mouth is downturned and his brows furled as he chews slowly and swallows, but there’s no remaining annoyance in the slump of his wide shoulders, the steady grip of his thick fingers—he seems calm enough now that an indefinite amount of time has passed.

Loki cannot help but wonder of his existence, of never being aware in the slightest of someone who has spent centuries living under the same roof as Loki, of how Thor managed to keep his mind sound while imprisoned in a place that would have driven even the soundest of people insane with madness.

For reasons unknown to him—curiosity or bewilderment, Loki does not know which—he cannot take his eyes from this being’s grotesque physique. The low light of the room ripples over Thor’s hairy bicep when he raises his hand to take another bite off his apple and Loki feels his gaze drawn to the bulging muscle, careless of his eyes travelling the length of Thor’s arm as it pulls back to rest atop his bent knee. Taking notice of how the short fur fades into smooth pale skin near the middle of his forearm, Loki follows the sight of his brother’s bare legs. One of them is drawn close to his chest, the other extending on the floor in a long muscled line; there, too, the fur fades into skin halfway down his thighs like a pair of briefs. 

Loki finds himself awed at the effortless way the two incredibly distinctive features of man and beast come together to create this fairly majestic image. 

Unintentionally, Loki’s gaze lands between that massive pair of legs where the large pouch of Thor’s sheathed manhood lies nestled under the soft fur. Warmth rises from his chest to his pale cheeks when he realizes and he’s finally able to redirect the line of his sight at the mortification that fills him at the thought of Thor accidentally catching him looking  _ there _ . 

The crunch of Thor’s teeth through the apple’s flesh, drag his attention back to his brother’s face and, as if sensing him, Thor raises the dense fan of his eyelashes to pierce Loki with the weight of his stare. Loki’s mouth parts in a slightly surprised gasp that, even low as it is, manages to catch Thor’s attention, who lowers his eyes to look at the rosy lips for one long, heavy moment before he reaches inside one of the sacks and rolls something on the floor towards Loki. 

When Loki looks down, he finds a juicy red apple swaying gently to a stop before him. His stomach gurgles in hunger.

* * *

Loki sleeps again what feels like long hours later but cannot be more than a couple when Thor doesn’t seem to be anywhere closer to the mood for talking and Loki has ran himself weary by his increasingly complicated thoughts and questions that stay perpetually unanswered and get more confusing the longer he ponders on them.

* * *

Finally bored out of his mind, Loki tries wandering through the labyrinth, faultily believing his eyes will adjust in the perfect darkness if he works them hard enough, that he might be able to track residual undercurrents of seidr that will lead him back to the surface. He left Thor sleeping back in the room, arms crossed over his massive chest and face turned towards Loki, distrustful still to turn his back to him, none the wiser of Loki’s venturing.

Some minutes into his ill-thought-of adventure, Loki realises his mistake. The strange gusts of air scream in his ears, erupting chills down his spine, confusing him even more as he tries to feel his way through the maze. But he comes up empty-handed when he makes contact with yet another dead end. Loki sighs deeply, thumps his head twice against the stone for his foolishness. His nose starts tingling and he rubs at it frustrated, tears gathering in his eyes. His body is wracked by sobs before Loki can calm his rising distress.

Lowering to the ground, Loki tightens his fists against the wall and cries for his predicament, for being lied to, for being deprived of ever knowing of Thor’s existence beforehand. Then, he cries for Thor, for having a life taken away from him, for being thrown into this Norns-forsaken place, forgotten of, abandoned. Loki cries for his mother having to live through the snatching of her son, for having to continue living by that monster’s side; he cries for her and he cries for Tyr, for the smile Loki has only witnessed through Thor’s memories, for the agony and anger he saw in his oldest brother’s face when Thor was cast out; Loki cries for the fear and confusion on young Balder’s face, watching it all from the sidelines.

Loki cries until he’s got nothing else to cry for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!! Updates will be a little slower from now on because I've started classes in uni and have so much catching up to do :( 
> 
> I hope you liked this little update and I want to thank you all for your AMAZING(!!) feedback ♥


	7. Chapter 7

“I would have advised you to not wander alone in the dark, but I have to apologize for thinking you wiser than this,” comes Thor’s low rumble an indeterminate while later.

Loki startles from where he’s tightly curled into a ball against the wall, taken aback by the sudden appearance, for he has again failed at hearing Thor approach, despite the enormity of his hoofs.

“I beg your par-!” Loki’s offended exclamation is cut off by the grip of a strong hand wrapping around his upper arm. He squeaks inelegantly when he’s unceremoniously dragged from the ground and lifted into Thor’s arms. “What are you doing! You oaf, let go of me!”

Despite Loki’s kicking and punching, Thor holds onto him quite securely.

“Enough of that, little prince,” Thor says, arms tightening around Loki—he sounds almost amused. “I don’t reckon you possessing the ability to see in the dark, now, do you? So cease your writhing.”

Loki wants to fight. He wants to push Thor, to bite the meat on Thor’s shoulder until he lets go and Loki is able to breathe again, get away from his ridiculous warmth and strangely gentle grasp. But what Thor’s saying is true; Loki doesn’t possess the ability to see in the dark and he can neither summon the light to guide him through the ever-changing maze. 

In increments, Loki commands his body to relax.

“There is a good lad.” Thor’s praise has Loki’s face blooming with warmth. He’s quick to look down at his lap, hide his face from Thor’s possible scrutiny. 

It clicks suddenly in Loki’s mind, like the sound of a pistol going off, and startled he asks Thor: “You can see in the dark?”

“Aye. Now come, lean back comfortably, we have quite the way before us.”

There’s a soft tap on his hip that coaxes him in a better position against Thor’s bulk. Loki allows him to move him until he’s leaning sideways to his chest, but he keeps his arms crossed over his torso, unwilling to show any more weakness—he’s already embarrassed himself enough.

Thor huffs a sound that could be considered to be a laugh—if one possessed a wild enough imagination—and takes off in the darkness of the corridors.

They go on in silence for long minutes, the warmth emanating from Thor’s body coming in stark contrast with the chill that permeates the labyrinth and Loki finds himself unwinding slowly into that warmth. It’s not long before he’s resting his head on the ball of Thor’s shoulder, a hand resting softly in the middle of Thor’s collarbone. His eyes are made heavy by his earlier breakdown, but sleep evades him.

“May I ask you a few questions?” he finally gathers up the courage to ask. 

Loki senses Thor’s answering nod, feels the air from his words brushing the hair on the crown of his head. “You may, but choose carefully.”

Loki takes Thor’s answer for the warning that it is and picks with utmost care his words, hoping he won’t succeed in igniting Thor’s temper again—especially when he’s held in his arms and with no possible escape from him. 

“How old are you?” To his knowledge, Tyr counts a millennium and seven hundred, Balder on the other hand has just celebrated his coming of age a scant five moons ago at the age of eight hundred. From the peek Loki had inside Thor’s memories the aforementioned facts place him anywhere between a millennia and sixteen hundred. Thus this is the first thing he asks.

“I had just turned seven hundred and thirty-five when I was exiled.” 

Loki regrets his decision immediately. His chest tightens at the implication behind Thor’s answer, the fact that he was a mere child, still at the cusp of manhood when he was cast away like one of Odin’s pets that he had grown tired of. 

“I apologize, it wasn’t my intention to-”

“No harm was done, little prince,” Thor cuts him off. His hand twitches on Loki’s side as if to appease him.

Deciding to keep his questions lighter, for now, Loki starts off with a line of inane enough inquiries such as Thor’s favourite colour and food, his everyday habits inside the maze. He stops only when his mouth has become dry and his eyes heavy. He stifles a yawn in his palm and shuffles his head closer to the thick column of Thor’s neck, circling both his arms around his shoulders in a light embrace.

“Thank you, Thor. For everything you have done ‘till now.” he murmurs and feels Thor falter in his steps, pause for a moment before continuing on his way. 

Under Loki’s cheek, Thor’s heart picks up a notch, its beating reverberating against Loki’s skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at them talking *sniffles*
> 
> Schoolwork is kicking my butt but I have at least one more chapter ready to go! Update soon ♥


	8. Chapter 8

They fall into a weird sort of camaraderie after Loki’s little roaming stint, and Loki, for the first time in his young life, stays put.

They don’t talk much, for Loki has to be very careful with what he says and, even if he won’t admit to it, he is slightly afraid of Thor still. They share Thor’s rations and sleep on opposite sides of the room and it’s obvious to Loki that there’s more magic into the labyrinth than he initially thought for, no matter what, they don’t ever seem to come in need of either relieving or cleaning themselves—guess Odin might still possess a tiny shred of mercy in his old, cruel heart. Who would have thought.

There isn't much to do in the room and, with the choice of wandering around taken from him, Loki spends his days eating and sleeping, fantasizing and yearning for the life he left behind, out of this cage. He feels a bottomless hole opening in his heart at the thought of everything he won’t get to do again, of never again feeling the sun’s warmth on his skin, forever locked inside this endless maze.

Cautiously, they start talking at Thor’s prompting. He asks Loki about his life outside in the real world, about his seidr and his hobbies and wants to know all about Loki’s favourite places in Asgard, about their mother and their siblings and even comes to smile at Loki’s overly dramatic reenactments of stories that took place long past.

Cautiously, Loki starts asking him things back.

"I don't understand,” he begins at some point, sitting shoulder to elbow with Thor, staring down at the empty goblet in his hands, “how did you come to exist? Half a man, half a beast. This– this–"

"This monstrosity you mean," Thor finishes for him, not sounding even remotely offended and it hurts to think he has been called a monster so many times before that he has come to expect it, to  _ accept it. _

"This  _ miracle _ !" corrects Loki, firmly, turning to look up at him wide-eyed, full of unprecedented wonder. 

Thor turns questioning eyes on him, stares at Loki for long, silent moments trying to detect any trace of mocking in the other’s startlingly honest face, but he must see none, for the piercing blue of his gaze turns soft and nearly secretly pleased before he tilts his head back to avert his eyes and look at the high ceiling. The arm Loki is leaning slightly against moves in a brief motion.

“I am not exactly certain. Mother would never tell me everything- too ashamed still to confide in me even when my existence was the result of something that happened too long ago. What I know, however, is that she had an affair and Odin was  _ benevolent enough  _ to allow her to see me to term at her insistence.” Sarcasm bleeds in his otherwise mellow tone, dense and bitter, exploding inside Loki’s mouth like something he can easily taste. 

“Odin would never show mercy without there being unseen benefits for his person.”

“I know, little one.” Thor sighs, eyes slipping shut. A hand taps on Loki’s thigh, stays there afterwards, unmoving, hot and heavy over the leather of Loki’s breeches. “I know.” 

The soft golden light from the sconces falls over them as they relax into comfortable quiet and Thor’s hand feels rough under Loki’s when he reaches out tentatively to graze his fingertips over his brother’s knuckles. Snippets of the dreams he has had before traipsing his way down here come back to him now, and everything starts, strangely enough, making sense. Loki is hit with the sudden revelation that someone—some _ thing _ —wanted him to come here, to meet this lonely, forgotten creature.

* * *

Holding the quilt open before him, Loki tries to make out the faded pattern on it, comprehend the thought behind it—for his mother has always put her utmost care in everything she has ever woven. It’s a feat made hard, though, by the various spots where the fabric has been worn thin beyond comprehension.

“Here used to be a sun, half-concealed behind clouds,” Thor’s voice comes suddenly from behind Loki. A hand reaches over his shoulder to follow the faded pattern on the quilt. His body is a hot line against Loki’s back. “I remember it still shone brightly, even through the grey of the storm. Silver thread made up the rain and lightning, and here,” Thor drags his finger down to the centre where it’s most faded, “here used to be a snake. Black interwoven with golden thread, coiled around the symbol of an axe… or was it a hammer?” Thor splays his palm to cover the leftover gold of the thread. “You will have to excuse me, it’s been so long since, my memory fails me.” He sounds truly contrite, voice pitched low in a way that has Loki shivering, his heart bleeding anew.

Loki leans back to his warmth in a poor imitation of embrace. “Don’t apologize, please, for anything.”

And Thor’s hand slips down the quilt, comes slowly, timidly, to touch Loki’s stomach and, when Loki makes no move to shift away, it slides across Loki’s middle, clutches on his side as Thor pulls him against him more snuggly.

“Thank you, Loki,” Thor murmurs at the crown of Loki’s head, having him feel a strange, scorching heat, eating at his insides from the way his name sounds on his brother’s lips. 

And life inside this stone prison becomes more bearable after that, as they sit side by side sharing food and drink, as they laugh lowly at fond memories. 

Companions in a fate long determined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking this long to update! sadly updates will not come as often as they used to until I am done with finals T^T
> 
> Happy holidays!
> 
> Love, Kimchi 💕

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Twitter, [@TheAngryKimchi1](https://twitter.com/theangrykimchi1)!


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